Barcelona

I leaned on the balcony
over Plaza Catalunya.
People could see. You didn't care,
bearing around my naked frame.
The cold metal shocked my skin,
took my breath away
as you pressed eastward.

Out into La Rambla
we giggled in a bubble
about empty trolleys, 'claro! '
and figurines in revolution.
We floated over the bronzed crowd.
Every sound you made convulsed me,
muscles sore on every wheeze.

Gaud?'s organic Sagrada,
grown from a fungus, mesmerised you.
Once out again you made me chuckle,
bent apoplectic, tears, don't do that!
We stopped for tapas and wine,
so much wine you huffed and left me there,
confused as laughter still throbbed in my ears.

The hotel was far, but I walked,
found you near it, hunched in the dark.
I took your hand and we broke into a fit,
lying there on the still warm Catalan street.
In the morning I leaned on the balcony
People could see us. I didn't care,
bearing around your naked frame.